Calling

We will claim our purpose,

we will walk in it,

we will be as one with it

as it gives us power

and we propel it forward

We will be inseparable,

for, in fact, how could it be otherwise?

How could we be here

without our calling,

and how could our calling

exist without us?

©Wendy Mulhern

March 31, 2018

Four Square

Let me wrap myself

in the arms of the city,

let me hold its four sides close,

let it determine everything around me,

let us rise again within, in hope

No one needs to slide off the roof,

no one need be ground up in the cogs,

these things have never held a corner here,

they can’t pull any of us under

Let this light keep radiating outward,

let it light us inwardly, besides,

and chime across the afternoon

the truth that will uplift us,

and bless us soundly, here where we abide.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 30, 2018

Spring Clean

Open all the doors,

the cupboards, too,

and let the light flood in

And if there is clutter,

I will get rid of it,

cobwebs, I’ll wipe them away

Let there be no place in my mind

anymore, for anything that doesn’t

magnify the light, no place

for excuses, for cause/effect fables,

for anything that’s unclean,

anything that’s not washed by the light.

Let all the contents here be blessed

so I can be a temple of the Most High.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 28, 2018

When we know

In this time of shadows,

how shall we measure progress?

the competing accounts

of cause and effect

point to different courses,

different outcomes. And the lack

of referents obscures the sense

of if we’re even moving

and whether winds are stronger

or the currents

So we do what we do

in this moment, what seems right,

and we wait, without being able

to say what we’re waiting for,

only knowing

that when we know, we’ll know.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 27, 2018

Flashback

I’m walking through the city park,

my face full of sun —

My mind dips back suddenly

to another such time,

long ago,

when I was craving innocence,

not knowing then

what I know now,

that it is not a property of youth

or of maturity either, for that matter

It is that which is never effaced

by the surface of things,

that which we remain

to the core

through all the changes

that pass through us,

that which I can bask in,

then as now,

that which centers me

in ever present home.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 26, 2018

Essence

Follow the path of innocence

down to where it is sweetest —

honey-light pure, bright as laughter.

We can use this essence

for many things, I think —

we can use it to hold things together,

we can use it to heal ourselves.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 25, 2018

Amnesty

Every little one

gets to be comforted,

however muddy

they may have become,

however muddled,

however wrong-headed

they may have been

in their self justified crusades —

every one of them

gets to come home

In this new regime

there is no contest,

in this understanding,

nothing less than the absolute worth

of each of them,

the hush inducing glory

of each tiny one, and each great one, too,

set holy in the rightness

of encircling Love.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 23, 2018

The Practitioners

Every one of them

has an invitation,

every one of them

has a key,

every one of them can enter

the upper chamber, the light-filled room

whose ceiling is heaven,

whose glow will bathe them,

and everyone they bring with them,

in healing light. They are not alone here

though they came alone. In their solitude

their light lifts the whole atmosphere

and all of us breathe freer.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 22, 2018

Pleading

There is precedent for pleading

so I’m pleading now,

though I know I don’t even

own the voice I plead with,

though I know Your truth

informs my every thought

There is precedent for pleading

so I’m pleading now —

Lord, there are so many of us

who will be lifted by this light,

so much hope conferred

in this simple proof.

Show me the way.

Cause me to understand.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 21, 2018

Equinox, Nor’easter

The sun, in its soft patina,

is almost balmy, deflating the last

dirty pockets of snow. 

We have shored up the larder, ready

for yet another snow dump,

another Nor’easter

It may be equinox

but these things are not divided equally.

As always, we ride along close to the ground,

feeling every bump of the season,

not seeing the longer view,

not really minding, either.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 20, 2018

That of Which We Speak

We speak with utmost confidence

of something we can all feel,

and though it could be argued

that we can’t see it — here it is

For we can all see the light of love,

how it makes us able

to wrap each other snuggly

in the warmth of eyes,

communicate our approbation

in one look, strengthen each other

like that, even before we say anything

That’s where our words come from, then —

not the voice of theory or belief,

a voicing, rather, of what is.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 19, 2018

The City in Sunlight

Light makes its own course

along the walls and through the windows,

drapes itself in shadow,

caresses surfaces

Reflections, bright and subtle,

dance back along its path,

celebrating presence.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 18, 2018

The Next Step

Now that I have reached

this summit of perception,

let the tides fill in around me —

tides of comfort, tides of peace,

tides of sweet assurance,

so I don’t teeter here upon the point

but can find rest and ease

as the evidence of our eternal goodness

settles in, bearing us all up.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 16, 2018

Upwelling

Beyond my words,

beyond the framings of my mind,

beyond the now silent

clamor of analysis,

crests the surge of being

I’m looking now

from inside the wave —

lifting, and feeling lifted,

rising and expanding outward,

taking in the welling up

of exaltation

This is something new,

this is something that always has been,

this is something that changes everything,

this is something that has never changed

How will I walk now

within my former world,

how will I not become

the power I have breathed?

©Wendy Mulhern

March 15, 2018

Snowed In

The work being done

there on the outside

is nothing for us to meddle with,

a business of wind blowing in all directions

and snow, various kinds,

coating trees, filling window screens,

piling high on roofs and railings,

driven up again, in powder form,

from the ground

We haven’t been out all day,

contenting ourselves with

food and naps and laundry,

thoughts and hopes,

wistful as snow,

blowing around inside.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 13, 2018

My Mind

I love my mind.

My mind is a field, not a particle.

My mind is not mine,

and I am not alone here

I love my Mind.

My Mind is infinite.

My Mind is not mine,

and not even exactly ours

I love the soaring flight

of light, of thought, of color,

I love imagination and analogy,

I love the resonance

that chimes us all together

in the pulsing, coursing

harmony of being

I love my Mind, our Mind.

It is the field of all being.

It is the author and the keeper

of everything we are,

and it holds us safe and whole

within its knowing.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 12, 2018

Orange Line

And if the train cars

pass through a shadow,

its shape rolling undisturbed

across each clump of passengers,

if the train rattles through light and darkness

clattering to a stop at the stations

and the passengers are unconcerned

by the shifting light

So may my course be,

and let me sway with the turns and the clatters,

unconcerned by what we pass through

on the way to our destination.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 11, 2018